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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23441563">to try for the sun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloqit/pseuds/eloqit'>eloqit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Please do not expect this to be good, anyways i wrote this in one straight shot in 45 minutes, god can they p can they Please stop being so repressed, i simply think these bestest boys deserve to be happy, they do just be only able to be affectionate to each other when theyre drunk doe, title from a donovan song</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:48:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>847</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23441563</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloqit/pseuds/eloqit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike is the sun, Llewyn’s sure, or a burning star, and Llewyn’s never known much about space, not one for all that science shit, but he’s so sure Mike is the sun- or just the living embodiment of the word warm, like putting on a soft sweater, like sipping a mug of hot cocoa, like sitting on a window seat while the sun pours through the blinds, all at once, and Llewyn wants to melt in it, wants to cling to it until Mike defrosts him. He knows Mike would let him if he asked. He’s not going to ask.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Llewyn Davis/Mike Timlin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to try for the sun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s late- too late, Llewyn notes, as he glances at the clock, well past three AM, but he could care less, honestly, and Mike doesn’t seem to mind much either, as he, in his sweet, drunken voice, serenades Llewyn, changes the lyrics to the song they’d spent hours trying to perfect to some stupid love song, goofy grin countered by the way his brows furrow in concentration as he tries to come up with the next line, and he’s singing something about Llewyn’s eyes when Llewyn, laughing, face flushed, shoves Mike’s arm too hard, murmurs something that sounds like <i>shut up, you idiot</i>, before he’s cutting Mike off, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.</p><p>Mike makes an annoyed noise, like he’s frustrated at Llewyn for cutting off his singing, like he wasn’t just trying to get Llewyn to kiss him, but when Llewyn pulls away, just for a moment, he frowns so dramatically, and it’s enough to make Llewyn laugh, again, drunkenly, let himself get pulled into another kiss, easy.</p><p>They’re drunk- so drunk, and they both know they’re not gonna remember this in the morning, that when they fall asleep, wake up tangled in each others arms the next morning that they’re going to jump apart in a panic, that they’re going to tiptoe around each other for the morning, that things are going to feel strange, until Llewyn does something stupid enough to get Mike to forget about it, or until he picks an argument- but they both know they’re never going to talk about it.</p><p>It makes moments like these all so fleeting, Llewyn thinks, as he loops his arms over Mike’s shoulders, as Mike forgets he’s holding onto the guitar sandwiched between them, lets go to pull Llewyn in closer, as they both bounce apart in a panic when the guitar flies off Mike’s lap, lands on the floor with a cartoonish twang, as Llewyn buries his head in Mike’s chest in a fit of laughter, once the panic and surprised drains from both of their features, Mike’s arms wrapping around his waist proper, now. They wouldn’t just have to do this when they’re drunk, or exhausted, Llewyn knows, if he wasn’t such a coward, if he could admit his feelings without being out of his mind. </p><p>Llewyn doesn’t have time to start beating himself up, though, because Mike is kissing him again, and maybe it’s just the alcohol, or maybe it’s him, but all Llewyn can suddenly process is Mike, name repeated over and over in his head, the way Mike’s arms hold tight around his waist, pull Llewyn into his lap, replacing where the guitar once lay, the way Mike kisses him so sweetly, as sweet as his voice when he sings, melts Llewyn all the same.</p><p>“Mikey,” Llewyn starts, breathes out between kisses, once he’s nestled comfortably in Mike’s lap, and Mike breathes out an equally soft “Yeah, Wyn?” peers down at him with eyes Llewyn melts under, gets lost in so quickly he forgets what he was going to say, and he doesn’t know how long they sit like that, Llewyn gazing up at him in awe, almost, before Mike laughs, grins so brightly Llewyn thinks he’s going to start seeing sun spots from looking directly at it, before he leans down, kisses him, snaps him out of his trance.</p><p>Mike is the sun, Llewyn’s sure, or a burning star, and Llewyn’s never known much about space, not one for all that science shit, but he’s so sure Mike is the sun- or just the living embodiment of the word warm, like putting on a soft sweater, like sipping a mug of hot cocoa, like sitting on a window seat while the sun pours through the blinds, all at once, and Llewyn wants to melt in it, wants to cling to it until Mike defrosts him. He knows Mike would let him if he asked. He’s not going to ask.</p><p>Llewyn doesn’t know what time it is now, can’t see the clock, doesn’t know how much time has passed, perception more warped than normal, but he knows its late, or early, he supposes, because he can start to see the sun rise through cracked blinds behind Mike’s head, and he wouldn’t be so tempted to go to sleep, truly, if Mike wasn’t shifting until he laid flat across the couch, if he wasn’t pulling Llewyn down atop his chest, if arm wasn’t holding so tight over his shoulders, effectively trapping him. Llewyn can’t help but frown, truly, head pressed against Mike’s chest, even as Mike tilts his head forward to press a kiss to his temple, even as arm not wrapped tight around his shoulders goes to run though his hair, slowly, tiredly, because he knows as soon as they wake this will be over, all of it, until the next time they get drunk, until the cycle repeats itself, and he lifts his head to say something, finally, admit his feelings while he still has the courage, get everything off his chest, but Mike is already snoring.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i wrote this at 1 am in the span of 45 minutes and did not proof it once. i am just constantly thinking about the sad gay liddle folk singers. enjoy <br/>twitter @poelesbian</p></blockquote></div></div>
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